


A Day At a Time

by kethni



Category: The Bill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 05:16:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3237692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kethni/pseuds/kethni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Note: this is set soon after Cross My Heart</p>
    </blockquote>





	A Day At a Time

**Author's Note:**

> Note: this is set soon after Cross My Heart

Luke looks at himself in the mirror. He picks up the blunt ended nail scissors from the shelf, and very carefully trims a stray hair on one of his eyebrows. He steps back from the mirror a little and turns around slowly, checking his outfit critically.  

 

Someone knocks on the door.

 

“Hello?” Luke calls.

 

“Just making sure you’re okay, Mr. Ashton.”

 

“Thanks, Nurse Dales,” Luke calls back cheerfully.

 

Luke straightens his polo neck jumper a fraction and scowls at himself in the mirror. Hmm, well, it’ll have to do.

 

Luke’s room is small but neat. A single bed, nightstand, wardrobe, and chest of drawers. It’s cheap wood and formica furniture, battered and chipped. The mattress sags in the middle, the surface worn by years of use, belying the oddly lumpy and knotted interior. Grey nylon sheets stretch over it, fraying and unravelling. The walls are painted the same green as schools and government buildings. The strange, clumped, textured paint covering the crumbling plaster and disintegrating brickwork. 

 

Standard issue room then, the same as all the other rooms. He’d blu-tacked a couple of snapshots to the clouded and mottled mirror, and there is a small pile of books on the nightstand, but that’s all. The staff encourage the patients to stamp their individuality on the rooms, but the rooms tend to stamp back rather harder.

 

Luke has a red leather suitcase open on his bed. It’s ancient this; his mother took it to hospital with her when he was born. Luke has nearly finished packing away his meagre belongings. The books go into his rucksack, along with his CD player and a handful of CDs. That had caused a bit of a problem when it had first been brought in. With the earphones in, and the music up loud, Luke hadn’t heard the knock on the door. Now it was more or less for the look of the thing. When it had happened he’d been on suicide watch. Not responding to the fifteen-minute check had resulted in two nurses bursting into his room and scaring the hell out of him. 

 

The door hadn’t been locked. There were no locks on the patients’ doors, even in the bathrooms. That had taken some getting used to and added a certain unwelcome excitement to bath time.

 

Another knock at the door.

 

“Nurse Dales was only here five minutes ago,” Luke calls out.

 

The door is opened a fraction, and a small man pokes his head through the gap. He stares at Luke with wide, watery eyes.

 

“In reception!”

 

“Who’s in reception, Eric?” Luke asks calmly, doing up his suitcase. He knows Eric of old, and he’s not surprised when the man staggers into the room and prods at Luke’s suitcase.

 

“To see you.”

 

Luke slaps the back of Eric’s hand.

 

“Keep your paws off my stuff.”

 

Eric bares his teeth and growls.

 

“Tell!”

 

“Do that, and I’ll tell them that you’ve been poking around again. You know you’re not allowed to.” Luke swings the rucksack onto his back.

 

***

 

Craig is sitting in the corner of reception just waiting and watching the rain through the window. It’s raining heavily, the water hammering through the air so hard that it bounces when it hits the ground. Opposite Craig, there is a small hatch through which visitors can see the nurse on reception duty. She’s behind inch thick plexiglas with a grill to speak through. So far she’s spoken to Craig to ascertain his name, his business, and if he can suggest the answer to 14 across on her crossword.

 

The worn leatherette seat creaks as Craig tries to make himself more comfortable. It sticks to his jeans, sucking greedily at the fabric. Craig crosses his legs, and rubs mist from the window with the flat of his hand.

 

There are piles of battered, dog-eared magazines under the coffee table. Craig ignores them automatically. He glanced at them the very first time he came to visit; a brief flare of interest that was quickly dampened.  _Those_  kind of magazines. Brain rotting drivel about vacuous people who achieve their fifteen minutes of fame by so called ‘reality television’. Reality, in Craig’s experience, rarely involves carefully selecting a group of vainglorious morons, trapping them together, and hoping they’ll fight, fornicate, or both. If Craig stopped to think about the seeming inexhaustible supply of these people he’d probably get depressed. But he doesn’t, he has far more important things on his mind.

 

Luke steps into reception and smiles at him shyly.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Hi.” Craig jumps to his feet, and gently pulls Luke’s suitcase from his hand. “Um.”

 

“Yes?” Luke shifts from foot to foot.

 

“Ready, are you?” Craig asks.

 

“Think so. If that’s okay with you?” Luke nervously shifts his rucksack.

 

“Yes.” Craig licks his lips, all too aware that his nerves are twanging.

 

“Right.”

 

“Okay.” Craig takes a tentative step towards the exit.

 

“Thanks,” Luke says suddenly.

 

“What for?” Craig asks blankly.

 

“Coming to pick me up?” Luke suggests.

 

“Oh, that’s okay.”

 

Luke follows Craig out into the car park. Behind them the nurse shakes her head and finally fills in 14 across: ‘keen nausea’ -  _LOVESICK_.

 

***

 

The rain has cleared suddenly; the dark clouds have scudded away, leaving behind clear blue skies.

 

The car park is behind the building. Craig’s mind is blank as they slowly walk around to it. Luke can’t think of anything clever or funny to say, and he’s damned if he’s going to make himself feel more embarrassed than he does already.

 

Luke touches Craig’s hand with his fingers, loses his nerve, and pulls his hand back. Craig glances at him uncertainly.

 

“Sorry,” Luke says weakly, blushing furiously and staring at the ground.

 

“Okay,” Craig says, his face falling a little. He switches the suitcase to his other hand and flexes his fingers.

 

“It’s not too heavy?”

 

“Heavy?”

 

“The suitcase.” Luke waves a hand at the suitcase that Craig is carrying for him, again brushing against Craig's fingers.

 

“Nah,” Craig says gently. “Not at all.”

 

“Good,” Luke mutters under his breath.

 

Craig thoughtfully switches the suitcase back to the other hand, and then takes hold of Luke’s hand.

 

***

 

Craig fills up the petrol tank, replaces the hose, and opens the car door to talk to Luke.

 

“I’ll only be five minutes. Do you want anything?”

 

“No, I’m fine thanks,” Luke says earnestly, eyeing the glove compartment.

 

“Sure? Bar of chocolate? One of those microwave hotdogs? I’ve never known anyone could eat like you. I swear the canteen ladies at Sun Hill used to run when they saw you coming.”

 

“That’s not generally a good thing,” Luke says impishly.

 

“I guess not,” Craig says with a broad grin. “Okay. I won’t be long.”

 

“Okay,” Luke says agreeably. He watches Craig stride across the forecourt and through the door. Then he opens the glove compartment and begins pulling out the contents. Maps, a pen, a pad, and a tiny little teddy bear in a miniature police uniform.

 

“What’re you doing?” Craig asks in an amused tone, shutting the car door and pulling on his seat belt.

 

“Um.” Luke hastily shuts the glove compartment. “That was quick.”

 

“There wasn’t a queue.” Craig raises his eyebrows. 

 

“Oh.”

 

“Looking for something?”

 

“I... I was just being nosy,” Luke admits. “You know, to see what you had in there.”

 

“So did you find anything interesting?” Craig asks sweetly as he drives back onto the main road.

 

Luke opens the glove compartment, takes out the teddy bear, and waggles it sheepishly.

 

“Didn’t have you down as the teddy bear type.”

 

“It was a present,” Craig says after a beat.

 

“What?”

 

“The teddy bear. It was a present.”

 

“Who from?” Luke asks, uncomfortably aware that he dislikes the idea.

 

“Class 3b at St Justin’s Primary School,” Craig says self-consciously.

 

Luke grins hugely.

 

“Little kids?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“A class of little kids bought you a teddy bear?” Luke giggles.

 

“It’s a private school. One of their pupils was nearly run over by an idiot parent in a 4x4, so they asked for someone to come in and talk to the children and the parents. Then they asked me to come back and talk about railways and construction sites. Stop grinning at me like that.”

 

“I bet you’re great with kids. I bet you do your grumpy act and they see straight through it,” Luke teases.

 

Craig rolls his eyes.

 

“What did they call you?” Luke asks, trying to lift the cap off the teddy bear’s head.

 

Craig stiffens.

 

“What?”

 

“What did they call you? You’re not telling me that a roomful of seven year-olds called you ‘Sergeant Gilmore’. Half of ‘em would be saying ‘thargent’. Thargent Cwaig maybe?” Luke looks at the expression on Craig’s face and howls with laughter.  

 

***

 

“Your mum is a little put out that you didn’t want to stay with her,” Craig says mildly as he unlocks his front door. “I think mostly she’s feeling guilty.”

 

“I didn’t know you’d spoken to her.” Luke follows Craig in through the door.

 

“Yes, we bumped into each other a few times visiting you.”

 

“Oh,” Luke says thoughtfully. “Um…”

 

“I don’t know what she thinks about you and I. She hasn’t said anything,” Craig says kindly.

 

“But she hasn’t… I mean she hasn’t been rude to you or anything?”

 

“No, she’s always been very nice,” Craig says, surprised. “A bit… shy, possibly.”

 

“She is,” Luke agrees. “And she’s probably a bit in awe because you’re a sergeant.”

 

“In awe?” Craig asks, genuinely surprised.

 

“Yeah, like the rest of us.” Luke winks, and laughs lightly.

 

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Craig decides. “You take tea with milk and no sugar, that right?

 

“That’s right,” Luke says amiably.

 

“Okay.” Craig hands the suitcase over to Luke. “The spare room is upstairs, second on the left.”

 

Luke’s expression flickers for a moment, and then he shuffles over to the stairs.

 

“Okay, thanks.”

 

***

 

Craig walks out of the kitchen carrying two mugs of tea. He stops dead by the couch, and stares at Luke sitting cross-legged in front of the bookcases.

 

“What’re you doing?”

 

“I’m  _investigating_  your books,” Luke says, not looking around.

 

Craig carefully sets the two mugs onto the waiting coasters on the coffee table and walks over to Luke. He sits down on the carpet and tries to look over Luke’s shoulder.

 

“Have you found any evidence, Officer?”

 

“Enquiries are continuing,” Luke says gravely.

 

“Why’re you so interested in my things?” Craig asks, his arm brushing against Luke’s.

 

“Because they’re yours. You can tell a lot about a person from their things.”

 

“So, you’re coming to stay with me so you can do an inventory?” Craig asks.

 

“No… I…” Luke notices the little smile that Craig is trying to hide. “That’s not funny!”

 

“Grumpy, aren’t you?”

 

“Worried I’m stealing your act?” Luke asks.

 

“Luke, sit down on the couch and drink your tea,” Craig suggests mildly.

 

“But…“

 

“You’ve got plenty of time to psychoanalyse me,” Craig says dryly.

 

“You don’t get it,” Luke says sadly. He straightens up the books and walks over to the couch.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude,” Craig offers.

 

Luke slips off his shoes and curls up on the couch, nursing his mug of tea. Craig sits in the armchair waiting awkwardly.

 

“’S’okay,” Luke mutters eventually.

 

“What um… what was it you were trying to tell about me?” Craig asks, feeling as if he is edging over a deep chasm on a very thin bridge.

 

“Just… you know, the other stuff.”

 

“The other stuff?” Craig asks helplessly.

 

“You  _know_.” Luke looks up. “The stuff that I don’t know. I know what you’re like at work. I want to know… what makes you laugh, what kind of food you like, the stuff that makes you – _you_.”

 

“You could ask me.”

 

“And you could choose to tell me whatever you want. But the things you have, at home, at work, they kind of… tell the truth about you, the way you live.”

 

“They do?”

 

“If you were in my flat, wouldn’t you be interested in the kind of books I read?”

 

“What kind of books do you read?” Craig asks.

 

Luke smiles sadly, and tries again.

 

“No, I mean… You can get a feeling from places about the people who live there.” Luke blushes, and stares at his mug. “I must sound like a complete moron.”

 

“No,” Craig says, genuinely fascinated. “Is it a bit like profiling? But instead of working out what a person is like from the crime, you’re working it out from the place?”

 

“I guess.” Luke sips his tea.

 

“Did you do that in my office?” Craig asks curiously.

 

“Well, you were very contained at work generally, and there were too many other people using it.”

 

“But you tried?”

 

“Sure, even when I thought I hated you, I was fascinated by you.” Luke blushes and tilts his head. “Does that make sense?”

 

“You made me think you were just using me to experiment. That’s a long way from being fascinated.”

 

“You have a right to be angry,” Luke says quietly.

 

“I was never angry,” Craig says tiredly.

 

“But, I was horrible to you.”

 

“I’m not saying that I wasn’t  _hurt_ , and confused, and completely bewildered most of the time!” Craig smiles slightly. “But I’m not proud of my behaviour either.”

 

“You were…”

 

“What?”

 

Luke licks his lips slowly.

 

“People in love do stupid things.”

 

“You’re not kidding,” Craig says with a snort. “I did some really stupid things.”

 

“I didn’t mean you,” Luke says quietly.

 

Craig reaches over and touches the back of Luke’s hand.

 

“It’s okay.”

 

Luke entwines fingers with Craig and tugs his hand gently.

 

“Come and sit over here?”

 

Craig sits down on the couch as Luke neatly puts his feet on the floor.

 

“Craig?” Luke asks sweetly, putting Craig’s hand on his knee.

 

“Mmm?” Craig strokes his thumb over Luke’s knee.

 

“Do I really have to sleep in the spare bedroom?”

 

***

 

“It’s not that I  _need_  a bath,” Luke tries to explain. He’s sitting on the side of the bath watching the water pound into it.

 

Craig walks back into the bathroom carrying two fluffy blue bath towels. 

 

“Then why do you want one?”

 

“I haven’t been able to have one in weeks. I  _like_  baths, I’m a bath person. A deep, hot bath helps me relax. At the hospital, they had showers, and those tiny little baths with about six inches of water in.” Luke stretches happily, and then turns off the water.

 

“I’ll start dinner while you’re being a bath person then,” Craig says easily. “Have some towels.”

 

“Don’t you want to scrub my back?” Luke trails his fingers through the water.

 

“I’ll take a rain-check. My stomach complains without regular food.” Craig kisses Luke on the cheek. “Enjoy.”

 

***

 

Luke wanders into the kitchen wearing cream-coloured jogging pants and a hooded sweatshirt. 

 

“Good bath?”

 

“Great bath.” Luke rubs Craig’s back tentatively. “Dinner smells nice.”

 

"It's Thai chicken curry." Craig steps slightly closer to Luke, very aware of the warm hand resting against the small of his back.

 

“Ooh lovely, I haven’t had Thai food in ages. Hospital food is like airline food.”

 

“Over processed and under flavoured?”

 

“Yeah!”

 

“Did many people visit you?” Craig asks as he prepares dinner.

 

“Well, there was this one Welsh bloke who visited me  _every_  day. I used to look forward to that.” Luke grins broadly.

 

“Cheeky.” Craig sternly wags a ladle at him.

 

“Guilty as charged. How can I help?”

 

“You can set the table. Most of the cooking’s done.”

 

“Okay,” Luke says agreeably, not moving. “Can I cook tomorrow?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“You have got some recipe books, right?” Luke checks.

 

“I have all kinds of books, including recipe books,” Craig confirms.

 

“I can definitely see you as being a big reader.”

 

“I can see us with a cold meal if you don’t set the table,” Craig says mildly.

 

Luke grins, and rolls his eyes, as he grabs two sets of cutlery from the dishwasher and meanders into the dining room.

 

***

 

Craig and Luke are sitting at either end of the couch, with their feet tangled together in the middle, watching the television. When the adverts come on, barely ten minutes into the film, Craig picks up Luke’s hand.

 

“You have lovely fingers,” Craig remarks, measuring them against his own. “Straight, long, and graceful. You’ve stolen some pianist’s hands, haven’t you?”

 

Luke stares at him, and then bursts out in giggles.

 

“Mad! Totally mad.”

 

“My fingers are a bit stubby,” Craig says mournfully.

 

“They would look better if you didn’t bite your nails,” Luke says seriously. “It’s not a very nice habit.”

 

“There are worse.”

 

“Well, yeah. But it’s not as if you can even get a manicure ‘cos there’s nothing there  _to_  manicure.”

 

“Do you get manicures?” Craig asks, raising his eyebrows.

 

“No, not proper ones. I can’t afford it, but I probably would if I could. Especially if my hands are as nice as all that.” Luke sticks his tongue out at Craig.

 

Craig reaches down and pulls off one of Luke’s socks.

 

“What are you doing?” Luke asks warily.

 

“Looking at your feet,” Craig says with a sigh. “Do you get foot manicures as well?”

 

“They’re called pedicures, and no I don’t. I look after them myself. I don’t want to be forty five and crippled with bad feet, thank you very much.”

 

“How did you ever manage foot patrol with soft girly feet?” Craig teases.

 

“I’m not girly!” Luke snaps.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

 

“You’re just like the bloody rest, aren’t you?” Luke snarls. He jumps up and runs upstairs.

 

***

 

“…I don’t know, he just ran upstairs and locked himself in the bathroom. Probably because it’s the only room with a lock.”

 

Craig is sitting at the top of the stairs cradling the cordless phone under his ear.

 

“I can hear him crying in there so I don’t think he’s done anything silly. I tried talking to him, but he just kept crying. Yeah, I know it’s part of the process… I just feel so useless. Sorry? You want me to  _what_? Er, well if you think it’ll help… Okay, yeah, I will. Bye.”

 

Craig thumbs the disconnect button and puts the phone on the windowsill. He stands in front of the door and knocks gently.

 

“Luke?”

 

“GO AWAY!”

 

“Can I get you a drink or something?”

 

There is a long pause.

 

“What?” Luke asks, sounding bewildered.

 

“Do you want a beer or something? Maybe something to eat?” Craig asks, struggling not to sound too incredulous or embarrassed at following this tack.

 

“What?” Luke asks again, less angry, and even more confused.

 

“I have a cheese-board from Asda, and a gateau in the fridge.”

 

The door opens a crack, and a three-inch sliver of Luke looks out suspiciously.

 

“Have you got biscuits?”

 

“Ritz crackers.”

 

Luke sniffles, and blows his nose on some toilet paper.

 

“What kind of cheese?”

 

“Brie, three different blues, Cheddar, Lancashire, and cream cheese with walnuts,” Craig says promptly. “I’ve got a bottle of alcohol free white wine we could have with it.”

 

Luke opens the door, and smiles sheepishly at Craig.

 

“That sounds nice.”

 

***

 

“Did you get this for me?” Luke asks quietly.

 

“What?” Craig pauses halfway through cutting himself a wedge of Danish blue.

 

“The alcohol free wine.” Luke takes a little sip from his glass. “Since I can’t drink on my tablets.” 

 

“Oh yes; well, I wanted to cut down how much I was drinking anyway.”

 

“Craig?”

 

“Yeah?” Craig carefully balances his cheese on top of a small cracker.

 

“Um, I’m sorry about blowing my top before.” Luke can’t look Craig in the face so he concentrates on putting a dollop of cream cheese in the exact centre of a cracker. “I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know why I got so upset over nothing at all.”

 

“You were ill, Luke, and it’s going to take you a while to completely recover.” Craig lifts Luke’s chin up and kisses the end of his nose. “There’s no shame in having small setbacks.”

 

“I really appreciate you letting me stay with you. If I were you, I’d run a mile.”

 

“Well it’s a good thing that I’m me, and you’re you.” Craig says with a wink.

 

“I wouldn’t be very good at being you,” Luke says sheepishly. “I can’t even do a very good job of being  _me_.”

 

“Oh, I see how this goes. You tell me how bad you are at being you, in the sure and certain knowledge that I’ll deny it, and tell you in fact how great you are?” Craig says, raising an eyebrow.

 

“That’s the plan,” Luke says happily. “Is it working?”

 

Craig carefully eats his cracker.

 

“Yes; you’re an amazing person, the greatest ever kisser, astonishingly handsome, and quite probably the best dancer in the world,” Craig says dryly.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

“I’m ready for bed. Acting like a spoilt three year old takes it out of me.” Luke says with a small smile.

 

“Are you really tired? It’s only nine o’clock.”

 

“No I’m not tired,” Luke admits. “But I’m ready for bed.”

 

***

 

Luke marches into Craig’s bedroom, and immediately begins looking around with an air of great interest.

 

“Now what are you doing?” Craig laughs.

 

“I’m checking out your bedroom.” Luke vaults onto the middle of the bed and smiles sweetly.

 

“I thought…”

 

“What?”

 

Craig rubs the back of his neck.

 

“What is it you want, Luke?”

 

Luke takes Craig’s hand, and tugs him into a sitting position on the bed.

 

“Sarge, you need to  _relax_.” Luke straddles across Craig’s lap, smiling at Craig’s panicked expression. “Does everything with us have to be so melodramatic?”

 

“We do seem to lurch from drama to crisis and back again.”

 

“Well it stops here! You’re going to kiss me, and it’s going to be warm,  _wet,_  and sexy, without being in the least bit melodramatic,” Luke says firmly.

 

“I’m going to kiss you?” Craig asks, amused.

 

“Yes, I’ve had enough of me making the first move, and you chasing around after I’ve screwed it up. It doesn’t work. You’re going to kiss me, nobody is going to screw up, and  _I’m_  going to chase after you. All of which without any form of melodrama.”

 

“I’m not sure about this,” Craig says quietly.

 

“I’m sure.”

 

So Craig kisses him. It is warm, it is wet, and it is sexy. There is no melodrama.

 

But there is the intoxication of skin on skin as they kiss, of pheromones thickening the air, and the easy silent smiles.

 

After a little while, a very little while, there is a little pile of clothes by the bed. There is the frenzy of movement, the voiceless promises, and that moment. That moment when, looking into each other’s eyes, they only see their own eyes looking back. 

 

Luke lies quietly afterwards while beside him Craig dozes.

 

“Hello,” Luke says when Craig surfaces.

 

“Hi.” Craig rubs his eyes.

 

“Okay?”

 

“Great.” Craig gathers Luke in his arms, and rubs his face in Luke’s hair. “You okay?”

 

“Wonderful.” Luke turns over in Craig’s arms, and rests his head on Craig’s chest. “That means I’m getting better, doesn’t it?”

 

“I think so. There’s no rush, just take a day at a time.”

 

 

 

**The end**

 


End file.
